


when the song is over (we go home)

by chileancarmenere



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, fanfic inspired by music, unabashedly sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:50:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1959054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chileancarmenere/pseuds/chileancarmenere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night at the Hanged Man to celebrate the expedition into the Deep Roads (which Carver is not on) is Carver's idea of hell. Until Merrill shows up, at which point maybe the night won't be so bad after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the song is over (we go home)

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics interspersed throughout are from We Go Home by Adam Cohen, which is pretty much my new otp song for these two.

_I know I’m not supposed to see you when my eyes are closed_

_Or run my hands across your skin real slow_

_Or think of how we come together and explode_

 

Carver pretended that he wasn’t looking over every time he heard the distinctive creak of the Hanged Man’s door. His brother watched him with eyes too sharp to be fooled, though.

“You’re waiting for someone?”

Carver mumbled a reply and slouched down even further, unwilling to brawl with Garrett this evening. Unbidden, his mind wandered over the events of the day; his tit of a brother signing the Deep Roads agreement with Varric looking on, his mouth curved in that smug, self-satisfied smirk, and Bartrand slavering to get at Garrett’s fifty sovereigns. Nobody looking his way, even though without his effort Garrett would probably have been in the Circle now and there would be barely fifteen sovereigns in the coinpurse under the bed.

“I’ll bring Merrill and Aveline,” Garrett had said in reply to Varric’s inquiry.

“I go without saying?” Varric had drawled.

“Where could I go without my trusty dwarf? I’d cry myself to sleep without you.”

Carver? Who’s Carver?

Garrett had invited everyone to blow the rest of his money at the Hanged Man, apparently forgetting that Carver would have to support Mother and Gamlen while he was away playing hero in the Deep Roads. Aveline had some guard-related excuse, but the rest of them had promised to come – not that Isabela and Varric would miss a night of drinking for anything.

So here he was, drinking sullenly on Garrett’s coppers (though really, they were his too), and pretending not to look whenever the door opened. Pretending not to look for her.

Isabela moved from her perch at the bar to their table once Garrett had enough drinks stocked in for her. “What do you think of the singer tonight?” she asked, jerking her head towards a man sitting on a table in the centre of the room. He was playing a sort of folksy rhythm on his guitar, singing about love and how he’d lost it like every other song there was.

Garrett said something but Carver missed it as the telltale creak of the door signalled Merrill’s entrance. She had exchanged her usual leggings and tunic for a little green dress with a floral print scarf, and she took his breath away.

“Kitten!” Isabela said delightedly. “You look so sweet tonight!”

His brother – his thrice-damned brother – got up and _bowed_ over her hand like he was the king of Ferelden. “You brighten up this dusty old bar.”

“Flirt,” Isabela accused him. Merrill giggled and perched on the edge of the table, her legs tucked in neatly next to Carver, who immediately scootched over till he was pressed up against Varric. She smiled warmly at him. “Hello, Carver!”

He mumbled “Hi,” like the complete loser he was, and dove back into his beer for relief. Her large green eyes lingered on him for a minute longer, and then drifted away to where Isabela had produced a pack of cards and was busy arguing with Garrett which card game was the best for a drinking game.

 

_I know, I know, I’m not supposed to think about you_

_I know, I know, act natural around you_

_I know I’m not supposed to think about your thirsty rose_

_Yeah I know I know, I know I know_

 

Garrett, Isabela, and Varric were all way too many pints deep and Carver was beginning to feel queasy himself. The singer had switched to more jaunty tunes, and Isabela suddenly jumped up, shoving the table backwards. Carver managed to save his beer but Merrill, who had been nursing the one pint since she had come in, lurched forwards and managed to spill it all over Carver. “Oh no! Oh, Carver, I’m so sorry!” She grabbed a kerchief from Isabela, who was laughing too hard to think about getting some napkins, and began sponging it off.

“S’alright,” Carver managed, ineffectually brushing at his chest where most of the beer had ended up.

Isabela, meanwhile, had grabbed hold of Garrett. “Come on, let’s dance!” Her eyes fell on Carver, who still had Merrill practically on his lap, mopping up beer. “Oh, look at Kitten and Junior! That’s adorable! You two should dance!”

Carver was torn between I’m-going-to-kill-you and I’m-going-to-run-away-to-Tevinter-and-hide, but Merrill’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” She grabbed Carver around his wrists and pulled him forwards. “Come on! I haven’t danced since I was in Ferelden with my clan!” She faltered for a second, her eyes dropping, but then she was wreathed in smiles again.

Varric pushed Carver forwards, which wasn’t a great idea given his current state of intoxication. “Go on, Junior. Never disappoint a lady.”

Isabela and Garrett were already in the middle of the Hanged Man, where the tables had been cleared away save for the singer’s table, and were dancing so enthusiastically they had rather warded off any other potential dancers. Merrill danced backwards, pulling Carver with her. “I think this is more of a Ferelden human song,” she said, cocking her head to one side as the singer began a new tune. She was right, he recognized the Remigold. “How do you dance to it?”

Carver had attended a hundred country dances in Lothering, put his hands on a hundred country girls’ waists in Old Barlin’s barn, but somehow all his knowledge had seeped out his ears. “Um,” he said finally, tentatively placing a hand on Merrill’s waist. He felt a shock at the contact, and wondered distantly if Merrill’s pupils had always been that dilated. “I put my hands…here. You put your hand…on my shoulder.”

She reached up, but her fingertips only brushed his shoulder. “I don’t think…”

He chuckled. “It’s all right. You can put your hand on my arm.”

She hesitantly placed her hand along his forearm. “You have such big arms. It must be from all that swording you do.”

He’d heard the “you have such big muscles!” pickup line a few times before, but Merrill’s comment sounded like a statement of fact. (? He was pretty sure.) He clasped her other hand in his, and sucked in his breath as Merrill interlaced their fingers. She glanced up at him. “Is that it? Is that right?”

“Um. Yes,” he lied.

“Now what?”

“We…we dance.”

He stepped forwards slowly, giving her time to adjust to his motions. “You step backwards as I step forwards, and then I turn…” He trailed off at the impossibility of narrating the entire Remigold as he danced it. “Just try and follow my lead, in the Remigold the man leads. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

She stepped on his toes. He turned her the wrong way a few times. When the partners were supposed to separate and dance a few steps by themselves before coming back together, he ignored it and held onto her, improvising for both of them. Somehow, it didn’t matter. Somehow, it was perfect.

 

_We both know it’s wrong_

_But we’re just dancers_

_We know this song_

_We know the answers_

 

_So we both sing_

_What we both know_

_And when the song is over_

_We go home_

 

She was perched on the table again, her bare feet resting on the bench. He didn’t sit as far away as possible; he let her press her leg against his arm, her hand resting casually on his shoulder. Varric was telling a story about a griffon at her request, Isabela resting her head on the dwarf’s shoulder, lightly snoring. Garrett’s chin was resting on his plaited fingers, eyes drooping and a contented smile on his face. Sometimes, his brother wasn’t so much of a tit.

Merrill was absorbed wholly in Varric’s story, her eyes wide and her expression changing with the moods of the dwarf’s tale. Carver watched her face, and wondered at it; him a human, her an elf. Him the lone warrior in a family of mages, her a practising blood mage. It was impossible, it was absurd. It was right.

Eventually, Varric’s story wound to a close, and he gently pushed Isabela off him. “Rivaini, get to bed. Hawke, I’ll meet you in the merchant’s quarter an hour after sunrise.”

Carver, who had been nodding off, sat upright at that. He’d almost forgotten why they were here tonight, what was happening tomorrow. Garrett rose, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Right. Hear that, Merrill?”

“I’ll be there.” She hopped down from the table, Carver missing the heat against his arm like an ache. She turned towards him; they were almost the same height when he was sitting down. “Thank you for the lovely dance, Carver.” She hesitated, then leaned towards him and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered into his ear. Then she was gone, bounding through the door for home, leaving Carver to stare after her.

 

_I know that when the song is over we go home_

_I know that when the song is over we go home_

_I know that when the song is over we go home_

_I know that when the song is over we go home_


End file.
